Wicked Whispers (22 page)

“Are you saying the answer might be found in your books?”

“I have yet to read them all. When I experiment on my mice with potions I discovered in the volumes, the vermin respond as a human should. Not every time, of course, or with every mixture, though enough to tell me what may help us could help them.”

“You mean to heal my animals now?”

“I thought you might enjoy learning what I know, the same as I savor everything you tell me about your land.”

He squeezed her hand. “I would.”

That day he joined Sancha in her study room and explored the volumes as she did for symptoms similar to what the chickens encountered. They discussed how she might duplicate the problem in her mice and what treatment might save them.

Whenever a method worked, he grew as excited as a child who’d mastered a new task. Laughing gaily, he’d swing her in his arms, then kiss her until neither of them could breathe. More often than not, his excitement and hers turned to passion. They forgot the books to indulge in carnal pleasures rather than knowledge.

An almost perfect time if not for her increasing impatience regarding the rumors. Since the wedding, there were no new claims against her, the previous ones dying down. Although she was grateful and relieved, she still craved visits to the villages to offer her skills if needed.

Already she’d seemed to have waited an endless amount of time.

Nearly two months into her marriage a missive from Isabella arrived, giving her hope she’d soon be free to move about undetected as she had earlier.

I am now speaking with more zeal than Tomás ever had when I relate news of your and Enrique’s rides across his estate, you taking command of the house servants as a noble wife should, and how you continue to capture Enrique’s heart as you had the first moment he saw you.

Everyone is quite weary of the way I go on about your great romance, the men especially, who would rather speak of war, Moors, the taking of Granada.

I hardly care what they think or want, relating instead what you write in your missives, adding the many smiles you and Enrique must surely share. No different from my beloved Fernando and me.

I have promised those we know that you and I will give birth within months of each other. You must make certain this happens. I know our sons will be great friends, both having dark hair like our husbands.

Happiness will never forsake you again, dear Sancha. Only good will follow you now.

Your devoted sister,

Isabella

Her letter cheered Sancha to the point that she kept the missive with her at all times, using Isabella’s words as a sort of charm. All she had to do was act.

After troubling for days, she finally found the right time. She and Enrique lay in bed, sated from their love. “When?”

He snuggled closer, arm across her waist, face to her neck. “Give me a few moments. When my vigor returns, I shall have you again.”

Smiling, she ruffled his hair. “Of course you will.”

He yawned.

She sucked her lip, uncertain whether to ruin their wonderful moment with talk of healing but told herself to go on. In order for their marriage to succeed, they had to be open and honest, neither of them keeping worry or problems from each other. “When will matters be safe enough for me to heal again?”

He stopped running his thumb over her belly. Propped on his elbow, he looked down at her, eyes and forelock sparkling in the moonlight streaming across the bed. “Has someone requested your skill?”

“No. Though they will eventually. People harm themselves in all sorts of ways or grow ill like your fowl with no known cause. Women have trouble giving birth, endangering their lives and the infants’.”

“None of this has happened yet. Be grateful everyone is well.”

“And when they no longer are, what then? Do I still need to fear the rumors and remain confined here?”

“Confined? You make marriage to me sound like prison.”

“Forgive me.” She gathered him to her, running her fingers through his hair. “I have never been happier, but I cannot let others suffer when I have so much, especially the means to help them.”

He sighed. “The rumors might have quieted, but we have no idea how long they may persist, smoldering like coals ready to burst back into flame, destroying everything in their path. You need to take care. Especially now. You could be carrying my son.”

Her heart sank. Months ago, she would have resented his words, thinking he wanted to control her as husbands did with wives. She knew better now. His only concern was for her safety. “I would never do anything to harm our child or you. But I do need to know how long I must wait until I can return to healing as I once did.”

He eased away to look at her. “If someone needs you, I can always bring them here for you to treat.”

“The journey could kill them as it nearly did Fernando, and he was only a short distance from the convent when you brought him to me.”

“Let me think on the matter. You should too. We can come to an agreement on the safest way to proceed.”

“Do you want to do so now?”

He laughed softly. “I beg of you, let me rest.” On a weary yawn, he sagged to the mattress. “We can consider the matter in the morning, to prepare ourselves when someone in the village will need your skills.”

* * * *

Brave words Enrique had forced himself to speak. However, he’d given his oath not to stand in the way of her healing and had to abide by what he’d promised.

Repeatedly they discussed the issue and considered the perils involved, including her dressing as a boy during travel.

He rejected the idea. “Your garments would cause as much talk as your healing. Most people would consider you odd for disguising yourself as a male.”

“Isabella did the same when Fernando escorted her from Granada to Papá’s castle.”

“He wanted to protect her against being raped. Neither of them made their presence known to others unless they absolutely had to for food or shelter. Isabella never strode into a village and healed anyone.”

“I never stride. I walk demurely.”

He smiled, pleased at her banter despite the troubling subject. “You know what I mean.”

“What if I dress as a nun? Surely, we can get our hands on a habit. Who would question my intent if I resemble a sister?”

“The Church. A sacerdote. The inquisitors.”

With each of his answers, more color drained from her face.

He couldn’t stop. Too much was at stake. “To heal as you have been is one thing. To do so while pretending to serve God would be as bad in the eyes of the Church as a converso claiming fealty to Christianity while clinging to his former religion in private.”

She sighed loudly. “What then? If I had the power to become invisible and walk around unnoticed I would, but I cannot.”

Pity. Her going around unseen would make matters much easier for both of them. In fact, there was the answer. He frowned at an idea suddenly forming.

She leaned toward him. “Have I angered you?”

“No. You found the solution.”

“I did? How? What?”

“Being a woman, you need to heal without being seen. Being a man, I have no such problem. I can visit the villages, especially those under my authority, without anyone questioning me. I have every right to be there to see what goes on.”

She stared. “Are you saying you intend to heal?”

“No. Never.” He made a face at having to deal with strangers’ injuries and sickness as she had. In that, she was far braver than he was. “You can heal through me. When someone needs your skill, I could go to the villages with your materials and instructions on how to use them. After the raid, you taught the village women how to stitch a wound. I can read what you write, telling others what to do.”

“How would I know what any of the people need in way of healing unless I saw them first?”

“By whatever physical complaints they have. You can ask whoever requests your help—one of the servants is my guess—if their ill relative or friend has the fever, is coughing, broke a limb, whatever the problem may be. The solution might not be perfect, but my idea is better than nothing, no?”

She looked past him, gaze absorbed.

“Sancha?”

Her expression remained pained. “Are circumstances truly so unsafe I have to do this through you?”

“Would I have offered to take time from my obligations to see to this if I thought the way was clear for you to heal?”

“Of course not.” She melted into his arms. “How kind of you to help until I can do this on my own again.”

“With luck, you should be able to do so shortly.”

“How shortly?”

He wished she’d stop asking things he couldn’t answer. “We need to take matters slowly. No one has even requested your help. Months may pass before anyone does.”

* * * *

The matter came up little over a week later. Hortensia approached Sancha, since she knew of her healing.

Enrique cursed himself for allowing anyone other than his brothers to know of Sancha’s gift, fearful she’d take off for the village before he could stop her.

To his surprise and relief, she discussed the matter calmly.

“The young woman Hortensia told me about is sister to one of the house servants.” She paged through her largest volume as she spoke. “She resides in a village past the one the Moors raided, nearly a day’s ride from here. For weeks, a cough has weakened her, producing small amounts of greenish phlegm with most of the matter remaining in her lungs. Unable to breathe well, she has no appetite and has wasted away, no longer the buxom woman she was.”

Sancha paused on a page and ran her finger down the text, reading as she talked. “This book seems to mention such an illness. It may tell me what herbs and other materials to mix for a potion.”

She read quietly, nodded, then jabbed her finger into the page. “Here it is. I shall write down every word for you to convey to the young woman and her family. If all goes well, she should slowly produce more phlegm when she coughs, in time expelling the vile substance.”

He shuddered at the image she’d painted.

She caught his distaste before he could hide his feelings. “How brave you are to be doing this for the young woman.”

“I do this for you, no one else. Not even for Hortensia, who had no right to go past me to get to you.”

“She only asked my opinion on whether the young woman would survive. Not once did she request my help. I made the promise on my own. Rail at me, not her.”

“Would you listen to me if I did?”

“I prefer a request.”

He laughed, despite having to leave her for days on end. “How long will you need to prepare your materials? I want this done with quickly so I can return to you.”

“I shall hurry.” She didn’t move.

“What now?”

“Will anyone question you suddenly going to that particular village?”

“Why would they? To ease your mind, I can check the other communities along the way, as I have in the past, to see if everything goes well.”

“Even the one the Moors raided? Can you find out about Guillermo’s cousin?”

“Who?”

“The man with the burned face.”

He remembered and suppressed another shudder. “My first stop will be to see the poor man.”

She threw her arms around his neck. “I ask too much of you. Most husbands would have murdered me by now.”

He ran his hands down her narrow back and cupped her buttocks, loving their womanly shape. “Will you reward me greatly for my good deeds the moment I return?”

“I will be your devoted slave forever.”

“You had better.” He swatted her buttocks playfully. “See to what you must as I give my men their orders. They will assure your protection.”

She pulled back and searched his face. “What of yours? Surely, you have no intention of travelling alone.”

“Guards will ride with me as they always do, with others staying here for you.”

Worry pinched her features. “Do you expect trouble?”

He didn’t have to ask what kind. “I have kept an ear out for problems. Nothing is about, no worry about the Inquisition as long as you keep from fueling new rumors.”

“I promise not to do anything to bring either of us grief. How could I? My days are spent here with you.”

“Pleasantly, I hope.”

“What else?” She leaned into him. “I have no need for parties, celebrations, or other pomp as you like to call those gatherings. The only person I do miss is Isabella.”

“Upon my return we can make plans to have her come here or travel to see her.”

“Two Lopéz de Lara sisters in the same castle? You are a good and brave man.”

Laughing, he swung her around, kissed her deeply, and left to settle matters before his departure. The beginning of at least three days without her. A journey he would never have considered making for another woman.

Love certainly changed a man.

As passion did a woman. When the time came for him to leave, she kissed him farewell in their bedchamber, at the castle entrance, and again when he prepared to mount his gelding.

The guards looked off into the distance, pretending not to notice how she clung to him.

“You will take care?” she asked.

“Always. I have no desire to meet injury, illness, or death.”

“No. Stop.” She pressed her fingers against his lips. “Never say that word again in relation to you. I forbid it.”

He pulled her farther away from his men, lest they hear her giving more orders to her husband. “The longer we take to say farewell, the longer my return to you will be.”

She hugged him hard enough to impede his breathing, her face pressed to his shoulder. “I miss you already.”

As he did her, though finally they had to part.

His last image of Sancha was her running down the path leading to the castle gate, hair and skirt flying as she tried to keep him in view.

* * * *

She missed him immediately and chided herself for having put him in such an awful position. If he’d refused to help, he would have broken his promise to her. By agreeing, he was possibly putting himself in danger from thieves, Moors, or the Inquisition if they learned what he’d done.

She wanted to shout or throw something to quell her anger at herself. She snatched a small volume but couldn’t hurl it across the space. Even in her turmoil, the book was too precious. At last, she pounded her fist into her palm and tried to think of a solution so Enrique wouldn’t have to act in her stead again.